


Sonnet

by Lilith (LillithsGarden)



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillithsGarden/pseuds/Lilith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris muses on the appropriateness of Shakespeare's sonnet 116 in relation to her relationship with Rory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnet

Paris considers it ironic that in all her years knowing Rory she hadn't put together, until now, just how much the sonnet they were listening to at the Shakespeare festival near their place suited them. She remembers the first time they spoke for any substantial amount of time, in the quad at Chilton. How good Rory smelled and how she didn't know at the time what that meant. She remembers telling the brunnette she was going down and, for complete lack of a better word, stalking off with a feeling of incompleteness in her belly. 

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds, admit impediment," she mouthed along, quietly. "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove."

Ok, so she hadn't tried to deny her feelings for Rory but was it so different than what she had actually done, putting them both through many failed relationships with men, including her failed marriage to Doyle because she hadn't realized she was in love with her best friend? Paris didn't think so. Rory had waited years for her, not expecting her feelings to be reciprocated. It was basically the same thing as denial, or if not, something very similar.

"Do you remember the time I recited this to you?" 

Rory's smile sends a jolt through her, "That was years ago. We were fifteen and you weren't as soft around the edges as you are now."

She didn't consider herself soft around the edges now. She still didn't suffer fools well; Oncology was a field where being wrong got people killed. Just last week she had made a fellow resident cry, because the woman had missed something small. People were starting to refer to her as ‘House’. Not that it was so bad, he was a good doctor. It didn't matter that the medical facts of the show were by its nature unreliable, he got the job done and he didn't let feelings get in the way. Paris admired that. 

Paris had even found her own version of Wilson in Rory, who'd talked the blonde off many a ledge in regards to her colleagues. It was fitting really, because she cared for Rory like House obviously cared for Wilson. God, she's been watching way too much TV if she thinks the comparison is an obvious one. What happened to the time when relaxing meant Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell instead of a medical drama; she missed those times. 

"I'm not soft, Gilmore."

Rory smiled and pecked her on the cheek, squeezing her hand. "That's 'Geller,' to you."

She shivered; they'd gotten married last month in a fairly traditional Jewish wedding. If someone had told her as a teenager this was what would happen between her and Rory when they'd grown up, she'd have panicked. Her therapist and later Terrance, her life-coach, would have been working serious overtime. Sometimes she still considered panicking, but Dr Shref, the hack, wouldn't schedule her for more than once a week. He found her draining, she could tell. Pretty soon she would need a new therapist. Her neuroses caused her to go through therapists like Madeleine and Louise went through guys at Chilton.

She pulled Rory in for a kiss, "I still can't believe you didn't keep your name."

"Paris, we both know that I'll always be a Gilmore but we're family, too, and I wanted it to be obvious." Her time on the road had made Rory more open, Paris liked that. 

"A fixed mark," said Paris, referencing the sonnet again. 

"Yeah, one that will bear out, even when we're old and grey."

Paris truly believed that she wouldn't find someone better than Rory. She didn't plan on ever even trying, so the idea was something she enjoyed. There wasn't really more she could ask for, even if she sometimes worried about how things would turn out in the future. She could see time changing them, but things still remaining essentially the same. Rory wasn't only the embodiment of what sappy people consider an extremely romantic sonnet; she was also a woman of valour. 

And that, as far as Paris was concerned, meant more than some old poem whether she felt it embodied their relationship or not.


End file.
